


𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐀

by serethsereth



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: 1950s, F/M, German Crime Syndicate, Italian Crime Syndicate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serethsereth/pseuds/serethsereth
Summary: "𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐄""hell is empty and all the devils are here""o human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?"
Relationships: Rabbi Milligan/Original Female Character, Rabbi Milligan/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐀

𝐉ohannes von Reichel, leaning back on the chair with his big leather shoes on his desk and a cigarette between his thin and pale lips, was looking out through the window at a small robin.on a branch of the tree beside the big house. 

It was almost noon and most of the people at the house were occupied with something. He could hear Beata Kraus, chatting with the old maid Annette, or "Mrs Klein" as she called herself, in behind the wall on the left. And though he could not hear her, he knew that his daughter, Helene, was packing her things into a big brown leather case right above him. The men were probably downstairs at the moment, guarding the house, playing cards, or watching television. 

As he imagined all the people busying themselves with various activities, he soon saw the entire house, as if he was standing outside, with its strong brick walls, small windows, a long veranda, a eight-feet-high green fence, cropped grass all around the house, standing on the outskirts of Kansas City. He was in America. And he greatly missed his home country, his home; Germany! He could hardly comprehend that it had been twenty-three years since he had last stepped on its grounds, walking towards the ship, his pregnant wife, Frieda, walking by his side with her dark brown curls let loose, seagulls soaring in the cloudless bright blue sky above them. He had been so happy to leave the country and so was Frieda. It took them barely a month to reach England. There she gave birth to their first child whom they named Karolina . She was the loveliest little baby with her big and innocent black eyes and he loved her more than anything. A year later, they already in Washington, searching for a place where they could settle. They rented an apartment on the city's west side. The building was filled with many foreigners; Slovaks, Jews, Spanish, and, surprisingly, multiple German men. He despised the Spanish for they were too rowdy, but the Slovaks were fine so were the usually quiet and pensive Jews. He only liked his "German brothers". They were honest, and tough and strong, just like real men should he thought should be. And so he spent his most of his time with them. Life was good and Frieda was pregnant again, giving birth to Helene nine months later. Three years later, they had another child; a boy who died two days before he would reach six months. The following year, Frieda died of tuberculosis and Johannes was left alone with his two young daughters. He started counting his money and realised that it was slipping away, just as the "von" in his name. For over two years he had not looked over at the amount he had spent and now it was too little to buy land and start his own business. And that was when he realised that, despite the fact that they were almost always at home, the other Germans were not running out of money he had inherited from his father. A while later, they revealed to him that that they were all going west. He needed money, he needed a new family. Quickly enough, Johannes was introduced into the world of crime, running up the ladder of rankings, until he finally became their leader. The gang, "Golden Eagles" as most called it, lived in various towns, usually for six months to a year, till in 1949 they had finally arrived in Kansas City.

"Sir!"

He kicked his legs off the table, startled by the unexpected sound of Egon Günther's voice. "What is it?!" he called.

"The meal's ready! Are you comin'?"

"Course I am! Will be down in a moment!"

Johannes von Reichel took a long drag from his cigarette and then left the room, locking the door. Then he ran down the staircase, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Not everyone was yet present in the room; there were now only nine people and five were still absent. But those who had came took their seats, talking to each other. Johannes took the big seat on the end of the table as he always did.

Then Beata and Franz Kraus, Dietrich Hartmann, and Gustav Scholz came down. Then Annette Klein came and leaned on the wall at the entrance to the room to join a conversation between Beata and Franz Kraus. Helene was the only person not present.

"Where's my daughter?" von Reichel called over the loud chattering to the maid.

"She's packin' her things."

"She won't eat?"

She opened her mouth to call, but decided to walk over to him instead. She rushed towards him and said, "No, Sir. She really's got a lot to pack and little time."

"Why didn't she fucking pack earlier?!"

"Sir, please do not blame her! It is my fault. I told her when you were meeting those men too late. Three hours ago. I had lot of work today and, you see Sir, I forgot. It is all my fault."

The man sighed heavily in exasperation, rolling and then rubbing his eyes and forehead.

Annette pressed her lips together in worry that she had now vexed him. "Sir, why don't you send Lars?" she asked. "He's a boy. Helene's a girl, a young lady, and how can you know how they will treat her, those Italians? You know how they treat women . . . young women."

"Missus Klein, Lars has only turned seven. He's still a fuckin' baby. And they'll keep their hands off her. And if they don't, they'll be in big trouble. I'll make sure of that." He headed towards the stairs.

"Where are you goin', Sir?"

"To see my daughter!" he retorted, running up. He quickly reached Helene's door and knocked on it. 

He heard her steps grow louder and she quickly opened it, stepping aside to let him in but he did not move.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Almost, Sir," Helene replied. She spoke in her usual quiet and slow tone, her gaze fixed on the floor between her and von Reichel.

The bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother: the light brown hair, dark eyes, the small button nose, the pale lips, the soft voice. But she looked nothing like von Reichel.

"Almost?"

"Just some clothes. . ." Her voice was quivering.

"Clothes, huh? Not enough in there to come down and eat with your family, for the one last time before you leave it?"

"I am pretty sure that I have enough of them."

He nodded and his eyes trailed down her body. She looked starved, almost like a stick in his eyes. "What's that you're wearin'?"

Confused, she slid her arms down the brown-grey chequered dress that she was wearing. "This?"

"Yes. What's that?"

"A dress . . . Sir."

"An ugly dress. You better wear somethin' proper. We are not ordinary people, and they should know. So don't pack unnecessary stuff. Just get dressed. We're goin' after dinner."

She nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her, turned around, went back downstairs, and Helene closed the door.

•••

The Golden Eagles were waiting. Johannes von Reichel was sitting on a four-legged wooden stool, his daughter standing on his left and the rest around them. Impatiently, von Reichel glanced down at his watch; the Faddas were twenty-two minutes late.

He turned to Gustav Scholz and Franz Kraus. "Go off and check were these fuckers are ," he ordered.

They nodded and rushed out of the room side by side leaving the rest of the syndicate in an uptight silence. They came back a few moments later.

"Sir, they are here," Franz Kraus told him, quickly returning to his place, and between his two last words, the door to the room opened again and the members of the Fadda family came in. One of the men pulled another stool from the corner of the room for his boss, Donatello Fadda, to sit on, ahead of von Reichel.

Helene stood by her father's side, wearing thick black tights and a cotton grey dress buttoned up to her chin, watching the Italians walk in. Most of them were wearing long green or beige coats and fedora hats. Their style was much different than the one of the Golden Eagles who only wore greys or blacks, and seemed to care more about their appearance than the Italians did about their own. Her eyes ran over the men and soon landed on the small boy by Donatello's side and she immediately realised that he would be the, one who's place she would take in Fadda family. 

Once all the men had walked in and stood still, Helene turned to her father waiting for his permission to let her go.

"Don't you have anyone younger?" Donatello Fadda asked von Reichel.

"No," the German sternly replied. His eyes never falling off the Italian boss, he said to Helene, "Go on, girl."

Donatello Fadda whispered something into his sons ear and the boy, though with hesitation, stepped forward, stopping in the middle in front of Helene. She was a foot taller than him. Attempting to smile, she pulled out her hand and they gently shaked hands. Then they walked past each other, taking each other's places.

"Welcome to the family, then, girl," Donatello Fadda whispered to her.

Helene raised her eyes and looked at her father. He seemed to be so far away and for the first time in a long while she felt happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been two years since I've written any fanfics, and this one's my first on AO3. And I hope this is a good fresh start after so much time. If I make any grammatical errors, please do tell me!  
> Rabbi Milligan was such a cool character that he made me return to fanfiction. XD


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